Lennox has placed Kahill and his circle closest to the wall and the city’s main gate, so he and his men can both protect the city or stand against his army should any of them choose to revolt.
It is done with forethought, in case Kahill loses control of his soldiers at any point.
Not that I believe that’s likely.
But these men are human, and they think like humans. They do not realize the safest place for Kahill to be once they reach our borders is far from his soldiers—not among them. It would be wiser to station him on the border of The Ravage Plains, unless I can compel him to behave and shut down the madness brewing among those following him.
Shouting in the hallway draws the attention of every man in the room.
Within moments, the door to the chamber is thrown wide, and a half dozen of my best guards enter, carrying a man from the stables. One Calixis has taken a particular dislike to. Not that she likes many besides me, but this one she particularly detests.
Dread promptly floods me at the sight of him.
“Sir, she’s gone. She’s been taken,” he mutters, struggling to force the confession past his lips as Toroc, head of the guard, drives him hard to his knees.
When I stride forward, the stable hand flinches and throws up an arm to shield himself, as though I might strike him. “Taken? By whom?”
“A woman. She was masked, so I didn’t see her face, but she had white hair and?—”
Oh, ho ho. No. Please tell me that little witch did not steal my fucking horse. But as I search inward, I sense her—Calixis—and she is not where she should be. She is outside the stable.
There’s a sense of reprieve from escaping her confinement, but also a sense of ire at the unskilled creature riding her who is coarsely attempting to guide her movements. I feel her confusion. Her agitation. The unfamiliar weight on her back.
Cali, show me where you are.
Instantly, jagged flashes rip through my mind—rough streets, narrow alleys, lantern light whipping past as Calixis races through the back arteries of the city.
The rest of his words are disregarded as I turn sharply and stride from the chamber. I kick open my bedroom double doors with enough force that they slam against the wall. “Deal with him however you see fit,” I call over my shoulder. “I’m going after her.”
I strap on my sword belt, grab my great blade, and head to my closet, where I begin sliding my knives into place. Metal kisses leather. Buckles snap tight. Within seconds, I am armed to the teeth.
Then I’m moving again.
Minutes later, I am in the stables, hauling one of Mardoch’s offspring from his stall. Tíarnach’s mount is the fastest among the four Aetherions, the celestial beasts crafted by god to be our bonded allies in this task, and since Mardoch is the only one who can truly outrun Calixis, he’s the best choice. He’s a half-breed—lean, long-legged, quick—but he may have just enough speed and agility to get me close before she clears the outer territory.
I vault into the saddle and drive him forward.
We burst from the stables, and guided by Calixis’s sight, I orient myself to their position. The stallion is trained but still carries a wild edge, untested in battle and ill at ease under my demand for speed. His muscles bunch beneath me as we tear through tight turns. I ease his mind as much as I’m able, influencing his desire to push himself beyond his known limits.
Ahead, Calixis and the woman fly through the gates of the city. Cali nearly runs down those too slow to leap aside. She is not giving everything she has, though. I feel it—her stride subtly shortening, her pace just slightly tempered. Buying me time, perhaps. Concealing it from the woman tugging at her mane and driving her heels into her flank.
They clear the city and enter the livelier parts of The Felled Forest, the section still in the earliest stages of regrowth, where patches of green have begun to reclaim the land.
I yank the reins and pivot the stallion west.
There is a straightaway through the lower district and another gate that will cut the distance in half if she continues in the direction she’s heading. So I lean forward and press my heels into his sides.
Before I can reach the gate, I check back in with Cali. Most of the trees she races past stand dead or rotting, skeletal trunks no more than spindly graveyards, stretched out for miles under clear skies.
As we approach the smaller gate, I wave my arm and shout, “Move! Make room—move out of the way!”
The crowd scatters just in time. Bodies press against stone. Hands yank children clear. We burst through and nearly collide with a family on the other side.
A man clutches a small body to his chest. A woman grips another child’s hand.
There’s no time.
I close my eyes and wrench the reins hard to the right, trusting instinct and prayer alike. The stallion turns on a knife’s edge, muscles straining, hooves skidding for half a breath before finding purchase.
